


whatever this may be

by Nara_stories



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Explicit Language, Fix-It, Hair Washing, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23363557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nara_stories/pseuds/Nara_stories
Summary: Let's fix that time Lord John touched Jamie's hand, okay? Sort of - slightly - unlikely fix-it for that scene. What could have happened after?Written for the Outlander Bingo Challenge 2020 for the prompt "Touch Starved"
Relationships: Jamie Fraser/Lord John Grey
Comments: 25
Kudos: 166
Collections: Outlander Bingo Challenge





	whatever this may be

John Grey felt mortified. During the evening he sweated through his shirt in anticipation and now it was sticking to his back like a wet rug.

“I— I’m so sorry,“ he stuttered, still staring at Fraser like a deer staring down the barrel of a gun. Fraser stood, the intense mixture of distressed emotions still on his face. Grey had the distinct feeling that he was about to burst out of the room.

And that would be the end of it.

He only ever felt like this in battle. Like the time had slowed down and he could watch every minuscule event tumbling towards a disastrous end, yet he too was slow, not able to move quickly enough to stop it. He knew somewhere deep in his core, that if he didn’t do something – anything – to make this right, nothing would be the same again. For some reason, he just couldn’t bear even the thought of that.

Very slowly, as if dealing with a dangerous animal, he held up his hands, palms open and vulnerable. He had to swallow before he felt his voice steady enough to speak.  
“I apologize if my actions caused any pain, Mr. Fraser, and I promise I won’t try to touch you again without permission.”

Anger swelled in those dark blue eyes, yet Grey felt an absurd sense of relief that his attention was on him again and not on the door.  
“Ye know ye wee pervert that I would rather be beaten to death than to give permission to an Englishman to fuck me up the arse.”

John recoiled from the harsh words, dripping with disgust. He took a gamble, that much was true. He didn’t know how Fraser would react to his advances. But surely, his gentle touch on the man’s hand didn’t call for such a reaction.

His throat tightened.  
“In that case Mr. Fraser you might be surprised to know that not every Englishman is adamant on using you in that fashion,” he managed to rasp out.

He stood and turned towards the fireplace, his hands fisting by his sides. Quarry warned him not to turn his back on the big Scot, but at this moment he did not care very much whether or not the man tried to kill him. Perhaps a quick death by Fraser snapping his neck would be less painful than the humiliation he felt, or the dark coldness that enveloped his heart since arriving at this place.

He wrapped his arms around himself and stared into the fire. Could a man die from loneliness? It seemed like every time he got involved with someone it had led to disaster eventually. How long till he stopped even trying?

He heard the floorboard creak and instinctively looked up. Fraser’s expression was still wary, but not murderous.

“What was yer intention then?”

Grey stared at him. When he didn’t answer Fraser crept a bit closer.  
“Did ye not want to take me to yer bed to find pleasure in my body?”

Grey swallowed.  
“Comfort,” he managed. “Pleasure if it was mutual. But not on the price of hurting you.” Some of the distress came back to Fraser’s face so he quickly continued. “You clearly have a stronger character, Mr. Fraser than I do, to bear isolation so well. I find it nearly intolerable to stay in this cold and harsh place, without the simplest form of human touch.”

It wasn’t uncommon for men – for soldiers – to find comfort in each other this way when there was a lack of civilization around. And Ardsmuir was as remote as any battlefield. This was one of the reasons Grey took that gamble, not just the safety blanket of Fraser being his prisoner. And then there were those few moments of warm laughter and companionable silence, where their eyes would meet and his heart would flutter with hope. But those seemed very far away now.

“Or maybe you don’t feel so alone with the other men around,” he continued absentmindedly. There was no point holding back now, of trying to salvage his dignity. Better to use the occasion to get the burden off his chest and speak plainly. “But I can’t possibly turn to anyone for just a simple touch of a hand.”

Fraser’s red brows furrowed.  
“Ye dinna want to bugger me then? Just hold my hand?”

Grey blinked.  
“If that’s what you would permit me, then yes.”

Fraser shot him a calculating look, but visibly relaxed.  
“Aye. Perhaps that can be arranged.”

He walked back to the table, to the abruptly abandoned game of chess.

“Come then, Major. I believe ye were losing.”

***

This is how Lord John Grey found himself, now the third week in a row, playing chess after dinner holding James Fraser’s hand. The Scot favoured his left hand, so Grey held his right, which allowed him to use his own dominant hand as well.  
His hand tingled where it rested on top of Fraser’s, their palms pressed together. The warmth of it ran up his arm, straight to his heart. He couldn’t suppress a contented sigh.  
The corner of Fraser’s mouth twitched slightly.  
“You’ve become increasingly bad at chess since… we started doing this,” he finished with barely noticeable hesitation.  
John guiltily glanced down at the board and noticed he was only two steps from losing. Again. He felt the heat rise to his cheeks that had nothing to do with the wine they’ve been drinking and everything to do with the slanted blue eyes watching him.

He had a distinct feeling these past weeks that Fraser was testing him. Giving him a little bit to see if he would try to take more. What the other man didn’t know was that holding his hand felt like sitting in a tub of warm water, and Grey had absolutely no urge to get out. He smiled and gently stroked a thumb across Fraser’s knuckle. Something flickered on the other man’s face, but he didn’t pull away. In fact, he laced their fingers together holding his hand more firmly. He reached out with his other hand, confidently making a move on the chessboard. Those wide lips stretched into a satisfied smile.  
“Checkmate, Major.”

John shook his head with a laugh and tipped his white king over. His heart gave a little flutter at the thought of how comfortable Fraser seemed in his company now. Emboldened by this he spoke.  
“You know, Mr. Fraser there are a number of things that bring comfort to a man that aren’t sexual in nature.” Fraser’s brows shot up, and his smile disappeared. Grey quickly continued.  
“I only say this, because I wish to reciprocate your kindness to me.”

Fraser pulled his hand away and picked up his wine glass, taking a sip. He placed it back gently, before finally speaking.  
“What do you have in mind?”  
John licked his lips and tried not to seem too eager.  
“Perhaps a chance to clean up, or a sore muscle that needs rubbing with an ointment.”

Fraser stared at him. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, what emotion he felt behind that unreadable mask. Disgust? Fear? Desire?  
He stood up.  
“Well, it’s getting late, Major, but I will think about it.”

***

Next time John had plenty of hot water sent up before dinner. It wasn’t unusual for him to do this, but this time he saved most of it for Fraser. When the Scot arrived his eyes immediately went to the ewer and basin.

Well then.

“I was thinking, Mr. Fraser, when was the last time someone washed your hair?”

Fraser seemed a bit taken aback, but not alarmed. His eyes flickered to the gently steaming water then back to Grey.

“I dinna even remember the last time I cleaned my own hair that wasna in a creek, let alone someone else doing it,” he admitted.

John let a gentle smile spread across his face.  
“We can do it now, and then it will dry by the time you go.”

They ended up moving before the fireplace, John setting up the basin on a side table so that the other could lean over it. Fraser sat on a chair somewhat hesitantly, but John felt like it wasn’t the hesitation of a man preparing to do something he didn’t want. Rather a hesitation of someone who already gave up on the possibility of someone showing kindness to him.

Fraser untied the piece of string keeping his hair together. His unruly locks shimmered copper and gold in the firelight. Grey has never seen anything more beautiful. His fingers itched just to touch them.

Their eyes met for a long, silent moment. Grey didn’t know what the other could see in his, but it must have reassured him because he bent his head over the bowl, red strands of hair rippling with the movement.  
Grey fumbled with the ewer but managed to slowly pour the water over Fraser’s hair, feeling strangely tender around his heart. He took a piece of soap, lathered up his hands, and then – finally – touched Fraser’s hair. The man jolted at the touch, but then immediately relaxed as Grey carefully massaged the soap into his scalp. He made sure not to miss any spot, in fact, he probably took more time than strictly necessary, enjoying the feeling of sinking his fingers into the gorgeous mass of hair.  
There was a barely audible sigh from Fraser and his broad shoulders relaxed. His hair looked dark from the water, almost brown now, with a deep red hue like mahogany wood. His neck seemed absurdly vulnerable in this position, and for some reason it made Grey’s mouth run dry.

Grey put a little bit of his own tonic in the remaining water and poured it over Fraser’s hair to rinse out the soap. It wouldn’t be enough to be a noticeable smell, but the thought filled him with unexpected pleasure that Fraser might get a whiff of lemon-verbena now and then in the wind.

He gently squeezed the water out, then reluctantly pulled away to reach for a towel.

Fraser rubbed it across his hair, messing up the strands, then looked up at Grey and smiled. John was fairly certain his heart stopped beating for a moment. 

He felt his cheeks flush. He cleared his throat knowing fully well that it couldn’t escape Fraser now what effect he had on him.  
“Should I… maybe braid it?” he burst out awkwardly. There was warmth in those blue eyes that hadn't been there before.  
“It dries faster if I leave it down,” Fraser answered.  
“But maybe later?” He asked before he could stop himself.

Bloody hell. He sounded like a besotted fool.

Fraser laughed and the sound sent shivers down his spine.  
“Aye. Ye can plait it later, alright.”

They talked about books during dinner and then about the matters of the prisoners’ after not any less seriously than before. When they sat down by the chess board Fraser casually placed his right hand on the table, palm up, and John’s hand settled into it without his explicit permission.  
After he lost again – it was bloody impossible to concentrate on anything with Fraser sitting across him, wisps of red hair slowly curling up as they dried – Fraser run a hand through his own hair.  
“Aye, I reckon it dried well enough.”

John went to stand behind his chair and gently combed his fingers through his hair. He was mesmerized by the colour and the softness of it. Finally, when he thought he was taking too long, he divided Fraser’s hair into three and arranged it into a simple, tight plait at the nape of his neck and secured it with the same piece of black string. It took a great deal of self-control to pull his hands away.

Then, Fraser tipped his head back and looked up to him. He reminded Grey of a beautiful, wild animal, that could only be captured or tamed temporarily. His eyes glinted like the sapphire he surrendered to him. There was something in those eyes now, something like calculation, that he didn’t fully recognize, yet it made his blood boil all the same. One of Fraser’s big hands lifted slowly. 

John saw it, could even predict the path of it, but he was rooted to the spot. The hand landed on the nape of his neck, heavy and warm, then pulled him down.

He was so much taller. Grey didn’t need to bend down much for him to be able to catch his lips with his own, slow and deliberate. Fraser tasted like brandy, and his kiss went to his head just like that. John whimpered.

Fraser rose and they stared at each other for a moment. Then Grey suddenly found himself backed up to a bookshelf, Fraser kissing him deeply.

When the man pulled away, John slowly blinked his eyes open. He felt dizzy, and he was fairly certain his desire was evident now. But Fraser stepped back, and John shivered without his warmth. Those blue eyes watched him very closely.

“What would ye do if I left now?” he asked abruptly.  
John licked his lips.  
“I would count my luck and forever treasure this moment,” he answered honestly.

And then Fraser was on him again. John’s lips tingled from his kiss, and he felt feverish from where his large, warm hands were travelling down his torso.  
“Holy moth—” he started, but Fraser cut him off with a biting kiss.  
“Shh… no blasphemy, Major, while we do this.”  
“Call me John… for tonight, while we… do this,” he gasped out, mirroring his turn of speech. Whatever “this” may be.  
He moaned as a large, warm hand fondled him through his breeches. And then all of a sudden, the touch was gone.

Fraser seemed infuriatingly collected as he pulled back a little, while John was panting, and half-convinced he had gone mad. His knees felt weak, so he leaned on the bookshelf.

“What if I stopped now?” Fraser growled into his ear. John screwed his eyes shut.  
“I would kindly ask you to close the door on the way out so that I might relieve myself in private, Mr. Fraser.”  
“You can use my Christian name too if you like.” His breath was hot on his ear. And then, he touched him again, sliding his hand right into John’s pants. His palm was rough and warm, and John almost collapsed from feeling it on his most sensitive member. He leaned his head against the shelf, his eyes rolling back.  
“James,” he breathed, not even caring anymore how pathetic he may sound.

And then the touch was gone. He didn’t wait for the question this time.  
“You could stop with your prick half an inch up my arse and I wouldn’t complain,” he panted. “Have your way with me or don’t, but decide about it quickly.”  
Something flashed in those dark blue eyes, but it didn’t seem so violent this time. James stepped closer to him, not as suddenly as before. There was a steadiness to him, that wasn’t there a moment ago, and his lips softened slightly.  
“Oh, I’ll have my way with ye, John, alright.” He almost sounded fond. He quickly unbuttoned John’s trousers and let them pool around his ankles with his underwear. Then wrapped his hand around his aching hardness again.  
John moaned. It was almost too much. He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a small vial of oil that he had optimistically hidden there. James pulled out the stopper and sniffed it suspiciously, but then he poured a small amount into his palm and resumed stroking John’s length.  
John made a sound, his toes curling in pleasure. Fraser’s hand was warm and slick now, but still calloused, stroking him firmly.

He fumbled blindly, putting his hand on the other man’s hip, in the hope that he can repay the favour. Fraser caught his hand gently and shook his head.  
“No. Just like this.” He placed John’s hand on his shoulder, and apparently he was allowed to touch his neck, his face, and his beautiful red hair.  
Fraser kissed him on the mouth again, leaning more of his weight into him. He sped up his hand. John stared into his eyes until he couldn’t take it anymore. He came with a relieved sob, Fraser’s name on his lips.

He slumped against Fraser, wrapping his arms around him, and he let it. After a while, he wiped his hand on the previously discarded towel and tentatively started stroking his back.  
“Give me a minute and I’ll—” John gestured vaguely with his hand. At this point, he was completely at loss as to what Fraser wanted, but he would have been willing to give anything.

A few pieces of hair came loose from his ribbon, and Fraser stoked them out of his face.  
“It’s alright, John,” he answered. There was tenderness in his eyes.

John suddenly felt the need to sit down. He took a step back, wobbling slightly. He almost fell, but Fraser caught him, and before he knew it, he was lifted up into strong arms, Fraser’s laugh rumbling just an inch from his ear.

He was vaguely surprised that Fraser knew which door leads to his bedroom, but couldn’t find it in himself to ask when the Scot laid him down on the bed. Grey half-heartedly kicked his boots of. He thought about offering something again, but he was tired, and for some reason, Fraser seemed to be completely satisfied with the events as well. Maybe next time, he thought.

Fraser leaned down and placed a kiss on his forehead before leaving. John was afraid he would wake up in the morning to realize the whole evening was a dream. Still, he fell asleep almost immediately. 

When he woke up though, he found a tell-tale sign of the previous evening truly happening: a stray copper hair on his pillow. He smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> A few little notes that might be of interest:  
> \- I'm not educated on the historical use of "fuck", however in the book "Lord John and the Brotherhood of the Blade" Jamie used the exact expression as I've put in this fic.  
> \- I'm also not that comfortable with writing Jamie's Scottish accent as I would like to be, but I'm trying ;)


End file.
